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Hugh’s own smile faded at the terror that thought brought him. “Why?”

“When I saw what Pembridge did to the outer bailey and knew what he planned for the inner bailey, the keep, my sons, and my people—by our lady, I still want to kill him.” She clenched trembling hands in her lap. “And he’s dead.”

How odd to feel a sense of kinship with his wife because she wanted to kill someone.

Oh, he knew she’d been swept away with the fury of battle. She didn’t really want to do violence, but now she understood, a little, the satisfaction that drove him when he fought well and won against the forces that would rend the nation.

“Th’ master took care o’ killing Pembridge,” Wharton said matter-of-factly.

“I did do that duty and would gladly do it again. ’Twill take months of hard work to undo the damage he caused to Roxford Castle.”

“He was ever like that.” Edlyn reminisced with an ease that reassured Hugh that she had indeed never wanted Pembridge. “He carried a blight with him, and in every place he walked happiness died.”

Her words reminded Hugh of an old friendship, equally touched by blight, and he stirred uncomfortably. “Has anyone seen Sir Lyndon since the battle?”

Wharton shook his head sadly. “Sir Lyndon was killed, master. We found his body among th’ stacks o’ other traitorous stiffs when th’ priest was giving his blessing.”

“Don’t talk so disrespectfully,” Hugh chided sharply. “He was a good man.”

“A good man? Then it wasn’t him I saw fighting fer Pembridge? An’ it wasn’t him I saw try t’ kill ye?”

“But he repented his behavior.”

“Ye’re too soft.” Now Wharton chided him. “Wasn’t it him yer sons say opened th’ postern gate t’ th’ enemy?”

“Allyn and Parkin told me they couldn’t be sure.”

“Perhaps not before th’ battle, but now th’ evidence sure looks gruesome. I wouldn’t have trusted him t’ turn me back—or me wife’s—t’ him again.”

“I’m flattered.” Edlyn looked down to veil the amusement in her gaze.

“No need fer that, mistress.” Wharton’s sour face would have sucked the juices from a peach. “I don’t know why th’ master wants a woman as stubborn as ye, but I do his bidding always.”

“Except that you do not trust me when I say Sir Lyndon was willing to try again!” Hugh said, exasperated.

Wharton shrugged. “I knew ye’d take his part, but it doesn’t matter. He’s dead, an’ there’s no use in arguing.”

And after all, Hugh knew better than to think Wharton would admit to slipping a knife through Sir Lyndon’s ribs. “Well,” he muttered to himself. “’Tis done now, and I cannot undo it.”

Indeed, he didn’t know if he wanted to. Wharton was right. Hugh would never have trusted Sir Lyndon again, and if Sir Lyndon had lived, there would have been nothing but grief between them.

“Other than a tendency t’ trust where trust is not warranted, th’ master is good at what he does. Why, he cleared out half o’ th’ rebel army even before th’ battle was joined.” Slyly now, Wharton asked, “How was it ye did that, master?”

Hugh wasn’t offended by Wharton’s teasing, and he gladly gave credit where credit was due. “’Twas a trick my wife showed me.”

Edlyn’s eyes grew round and pleased. “Really?”

“I’m not a stupid man,” Hugh said. “Twice I saw you win out over great odds by using the means available to you. I decided I could do that as well.”

To his horror, big tears welled into her eyes.

Crying! She was crying! He didn’t know anything about crying women. Hell, if he could have, he would have run. Instead he said, “Hey! I was giving you a compliment!”

“I know. It’s just that”—she pulled a strip of bandage out of her bag and wiped her nose—“this is the first time I’ve been sure you approved of me.”

“Approved of you?” Hugh tried to raise himself and found her arms wrapped around his shoulders. “What do you mean, approved of you? I’m in your bed every chance I get.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” Richard started humming loudly.